


Make You Feel My Love

by xHookedonKillianx



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 00:35:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14032284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHookedonKillianx/pseuds/xHookedonKillianx
Summary: "Person A is slow dancing to a love song while quietly singing into Person B's ear... during the apocalypse... where they both know it's the end." Bonus points if they don't finish the song/dance. MAKE IT HUUUUUUUUURT!





	Make You Feel My Love

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt on tumblr -- don't yell.

He comes to her in the dead of the night, but she knew long before he showed up that he was going to. She’s skated around her feelings for him for months, always putting the needs of the group first and telling him they’ll talk soon...

Or later...

Or eventually...

She always assumed they had more time, even though the dead roamed the earth, they  _always_  had more time and now their time has run out.

“You should be sleeping.”

Her voice is low and gravely, and she hears him pause before he continues to move until he’s standing behind her, the heat of his body comforting her. She shouldn’t have said that, she should have said how she’s glad he’s there, how there’s no one she’d rather spend her last couple hours with... but it seems her defenses are still on auto protect. 

“I’m right where I want to be.”

She bites her bottom lip, tears pricking the back of her eyes as his arms encircle her waist. She hates how her body tenses for a brief second, but then he waits... he always waits... and she slowly melts into him. He smells like dirt and grease with a hint of gun powder and it brings the harsh reality of what’s happening crashing back to her.

Her body turns so fast that her hair whips him in the face but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Killian, I—”

“Dance with me.”

She blinks, her brows furrowing. “What?”

The right side of his lips quirk up as he wraps his left arm around her, his blunted wrist pressing into the small of her back as the fingers of his right wrap around her hand to bring it in between them. 

“Dance with me, Emma.”

They begin to sway to the sound of the crickets and she almost smiles at the sparkle in his eye, but then she gets a glimpse of the shadows outside of the tent setting up and she’s forced to choke back a sob. Glimpses of their time together flash before her eyes and she pulls him close to rest her lips on his shoulder.

She remembers finding him floating in that boat, malnourished, pale and alone. His left hand was newly gone, the wrist wrapped in an old t-shirt, cradled to his chest while his right shook as he held a gun up to them. She was afraid to bring him with them, afraid that they wouldn’t be able to afford another mouth to feed and thought he was going to die from blood lose, but David insisted.

She remembers how the only thing he grabbed to bring with him was a picture of a woman with dark wavy hair and what appeared to be a spy glass. He clutched them both to his chest for days, not sure if they would be stolen until he finally began to trust them.

She remembers how he didn’t speak for a long time but showed his thanks for them saving him by doing manual labor once he was well enough to walk on his own and how he managed to bring in more than his fair share of rations.

She remembers how they would spend their nights together just staring at the fire of the camp, not saying a word, but becoming closer and closer with each passing night, until one night after a hard battle with the dead, they both confessed the secrets of their past. She told him how she was with her boyfriend, Graham, when the virus broke out and how he died in her arms. He told her how his brother, Liam, passed before— _“I’m reluctant to say I’m rather glad for it, he never got to see what the world has become.”_ —and how he lost his hand trying to save his wife, Milah.

They understood each other in a way that no one else in the group could, the only thing the dead have taken from any of the other’s is their homes and their ways of living. But her and Killian? The dead took everything they ever loved.

She remembers the night she realized that she was starting to care for him, they were out scouting for food when they were attacked. He was cornered, and she’d thought she was going to lose him. He told her to run, but she didn’t listen and they barely got out alive.

_“You should have gone!” He growls, his voice breathless but still filled with fury._

_Gripping him around the waist, she takes the brunt of his weight and mumbles, “I never listen.”_

_It’s only a moment later when he finally answers, “I know…”_

Things changed after that. The closeness in shared tragedy became closeness in proximity. They touched when it was unnecessary, held hands when they thought no one was watching, and even slept in the same bed, cuddling close. Though nothing intimate would ever happen, she knew what it all meant and now she hates herself for all the times she could have told him but didn’t.

“Killian…” She tries again, but he moves his lips to her ear.

“Just dance, love.”

His fingers tighten around her hand and she closes her eyes. She feels him smile against her temple before his lips move to her ear and the sweet sound of his voice begins to filter out the rest of the world.

_“When the rain is blowing in your face_  
and the whole world is on your case  
I could you offer you a warm embrace  
to make you feel my love…”

The sob she fought hard to contain finally breaks free and her hold tightens.

_“When the evening shadows and the stars appear_  
and there’s no one there to dry your tears  
I could hold you for a million years  
to make you feel my love…”

She lifts her head to look at him, a lone tear cascading down her cheek and he reaches up to wipe it away as he continues to sing.

_“I know you haven’t made your mind up yet_  
but I would never do you wrong.  
I’ve known it from the moment that we met  
no doubt in my mind where you belong.”

Resting her forehead against his, she lifts both arms to encircle his shoulders and sings the next part with him.

_“I’d go hungry, I’d go black and blue_  
I’d go crawling down the avenue.  
No there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do  
to make you feel my love…”

Tears are running down both their faces and she tries to continue but can’t, her sobs almost drowning out the low temper of his singing voice.

_“The storms are raging on the rolling sea  
and on the highway of regret—”_

She cuts him off there—she can’t wait any longer—and crushes her lips to his. She’s thought about kissing him so many times, dreaming of it being slow and meaningful, but she finds it’s not filled with longing and a hint of regret. They waited too long…  _she_  waited too long.

“Killian, I—”

The bullets ring out before she can finish and not long after are the screams. The dead have found them earlier than anticipated and they aren’t ready. There’s a fury of chaos and right before she trips over a fallen table she hears him scream, “Swan!”

* * *

Emma seems Killian twice during the fight—once when he’s stabbing a walker through the temple and once when he’s pulling Belle out from behind a bunker. She wants to run to him, they always work better together, but her job is a sniper and she’s a hell of a shot. They fight for what seems like hours and it’s not until she hears Jefferson yell for everyone to get down that she knows what’s about to happen.

“No!” She screams, running toward the last place she saw Killian. “Wait, don’t!”

But she’s too late, their camp is engulfed in flames and she’s thrown the air by the force of the explosion. There’s a ringing in her ear, but she finds enough strength to push herself up and with tears she yells out his name.

“Killian!”

There’s no response and she pushes herself up, only to fall back down when one of the dead grabs her ankle. It’s August, he still looks like himself, though his irises are completely yellow. She tries to fight him off, but she was thrown into a tree and her back was scraped raw. It’s just as he’s about to take a bite out of her calf when she hears the swish of the arrow and August’s corpse goes limp. Looking up, she sees Robin standing over her, pulling her up after he secures his crossbow on his shoulder.

“We have to move!”

“Where’s Killian? Where’s David? Where’s everyone?”

“We’re moving now!” Robin growls.

They find Eric by a tree with a bullet in the leg and it takes the both of them to hold his weight as they move as fast as they can. Their safe house is three miles away and though it takes them longer due to Eric’s injury and fighting off the couple of dead they run into on the way, they make it there by day break.

Regina all but tackles Robin when they walk through the door and David and Mary Margaret cry when they see her and she’s so happy that she doesn’t even feel the sting of her wounds when they hug her tight. Jefferson is with them, along with his daughter, but the majority of their group is gone.

“Ruby was surrounded,” Mary Margaret whispers. “I tried to help her…”

“Hyde, too,” Robin explains, his hand running soothingly up and down Regina’s back. “He was trying to save Mary.”

“What about Belle and Killian?”

Silence falls between them and Emma limps away, the weight of what’s happened becoming too much. She doesn’t blame him for blowing it, they all knew the risk when they made the plan and Belle knew and understood that Jefferson’s top priority was his daughter.

“They were at the bunker,” Jefferson mumbles, his bottom lip quivering as he holds his daughter close to his chest. “I tried to wait… the dead were all around…”

* * *

They wait five hours—two hours longer than they said they would—when David finally approaches her. He wants them to move, they  _need_  to move, it’s not safe to stay so close to a spot that’s bound to draw a lot of the dead, he and Killian were very specific about that, but she can’t.

“What if he’s still out there?”

“Emma,” David sighs. “He would be here by now if he was.” She wraps her arms around herself and he gives another sigh. “We’ll wait another hour.”

He goes back inside and her hands move to the railing of the porch, her fingers gripping it tight as she stares out into the sea of green. She can’t see the smoke due to the trees, but she can hear the dead moving around them in the distance as they walk toward it. There’s the rustle of some leaves and not even a second later, she hears the distinct sound of the cans from their makeshift alarm system rustle together.

She grabs for the rifle that David left for her and in the blink of an eye, Robin with his crossbow and Regina with her gun are next to her as they wait for the dead to show themselves. They should have moved, they should have left when it was earlier, because by now a whole heard of dead would be moving closer and there’s no way they can stop them. Her heart pounds in her chest and for some reason, the memory of her teaching Killian how to shoot a rifle comes to her.

_“I know how to shoot a gun, love.”_

_“The kick back of a rifle is a lot different than the kick back of a gun, Jones. You have to hold it tight against you… like this…”_

_“I think I might learn better if you were to stand behind me and show me.”_

Later when they went to bed, he whispered how amazing she was and kissed her cheek. She could have told him then how she felt, but she didn’t because she thought they had more time.

She always thought they had more time.

The echo of a twig snapping makes the three of them hold their weapons higher, only to stop when they see Belle running toward them, her face caked in dirt and her chest heaving.

“Can someone please help… he’s really heavy.”

Emma’s running before any of them can question what she’s talking about and when she comes to the path a quarter of a mile from the cabin, her heart all but drops to the pit of her stomach. Sitting down against a tree with a large gash on his head and his eyes closed is Killian and she nearly sobs before sliding to her knees in front of him.

His name falls from her lips in a breathless whisper as her hand ghosts over his wounds. She’s afraid he might be bitten, but when he opens his eyes, she sees his irises are still the beautiful shade of blue and not the virus yellow.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he coughs. “Nobody should.”

With tears running down her face, she offers, “I never listen.”

He chuckles, his head thumping back against the tree while they hear the others approach.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

Reaching up to cup her face, he swipes at one of the tears, pulling her to his lips for a searing kiss after mumbling, “Aye, very much.”

That night as they lie together on the hard floor of the cabin, he finishes singing the song to her.

_“I could make you happy, make your dreams come true._  
_There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do._  
 _Go to the ends of the earth for you_  
 _to make you feel my love…”_


End file.
